The Long Term Assignment
by MacyBear17
Summary: Molly Hooper. Pathologist, Friend, Baker and all round good person completely, absolutely and ridiculously in love with one Mr. Consulting Detective. What you see is what you get with her. Or is it? Rated M for Mature due to some violence and maybe some stuff... in later chapters, if you know what I mean.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note : Okay... I know I haven't been writing for a while now, but I've been reading a lot of Sherlolly. Inspiration for a slightly twist riddled story struck and here I am. Hope you guys like it. Don't forget to leave your thoughts and opinions in the form of a review and click those follow/fav buttons to make this girl one happy writer!**_

 **Disclaimer : I own nothing. Because if I did, Season 4 would be on air. Now.**

* * *

 **Chapter 01**

 _ **Chamber of the Council**_

 _ **London, England**_

"You do know, Agent… that this is a long term assignment. It may even be the only assignment you undertake for the rest of your lifetime. Do you think you would be able to handle going so deep undercover for such an extended period of time?"

The Agent stood a tad straighter in front of the panel of suited men and women in front of her, the tiny movement conveying both confidence and the slightest amount of disdain at the query.

They thought she couldn't handle _this_? A civilian protection assignment? Clearly, they had no freakin' idea who they were dealing with.

But even before she could put these people in their place, a small movement to her side caught her attention. The sight of the small arcs made by the tip of a black umbrella against the polished marble floors made her swallow her derogatory comments and she settled for silence and a sharp nod as her only answer to the question that had been posed.

The man with the umbrella, who had thus far been leaning back almost complacently against his padded seat to her left, stood slowly and cleared his throat, causing all activity in the room to come to a sudden halt. Even the people of the Council, sitting in judgment on her today, knew to stop and pay attention when this man spoke. He held the ability to start and stop world wars in the palms of his soft, manicured hands.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the council, I know that you think this agent young and inexperienced for this assignment. I understand that the target is likely to become a high profile individual and that this assignment may need to last… longer than usual. I however feel that this assignment would be a good fit for this resource"

The chairperson of the Council made to speak

"But Mr. H-"

"Madam Chairperson, I give you my personal assurance."

This statement caused another abrupt silence. But the agent could feel all eyes of the council members on her once more, trying to see what they might have missed. No one could remember an occasion when the man in question had spoken of an agent with such confidence.

With a small sigh, the Chairperson of the council leaned back in her chair.

"Well then, I guess there is nothing more to consider here. Agent Gray, you are assigned to case file no. 127B. Good Luck"

The Agent stood in attention, bowed her head once, sharply and walked out of the chamber with quick but silent strides, knowing that she was dismissed.

Waiting outside the Council chamber for her mentor and boss, Agent Gray, as she was called easily tamped down on the urge to fidget. She had just been granted an assignment due to her mentor's assurance in her abilities. She had no idea about the details of her upcoming assignment but what could be so special about a long term deep cover civilian security assignment?

The agent knew that no assignment was small or big, no job was more important than the other and that no detail was small enough to be disregarded when it came to a mission. This lesson had been drilled into her and she had learned it well.

As she leaned back against the wall, trying to look as relaxed as she should be feeling, Agent Gray noticed another slim, tall young woman with sleek black hair walking up to her. The sight of her first roommate and friend at the Agency instantly relaxing her, Gray stepped forward with a small smile and returned the head nod with a friendly one of her own.

"So… did you get your new assignment?"

"Yes. Just now"

"Come on… spill. Is it another mission to Chechnya? Or did you score that sweet one everyone's been talking about?"

"I wish… The council isn't planning to send me out of the country ever again. Not after that debacle at the Serbian embassy. I got stuck with a long term one this time. Domestic I believe… It's some sort of civilian security detail."

Gray scowled at the floor, slightly scuffing her shiny boots on the floor, trying to contain the feelings of frustration and helplessness that reared up every time she thought about the incident that had taken place at a party at the Serbian embassy exactly two months before. Faulty information had led to their losing one of their own in a botched up extraction.

Though Gray had not been the most senior agent on the mission, she had gotten a lot of heat for going against her superior's orders. No one really cared that her actions had saved two of their agents from certain death but she had been severely reprimanded and her actions had necessitated her mentor sticking his neck out for her today.

"Hey… Buck up. At least we can keep up with each other then"

Gray looked up sharply at the grin on Margaret's face and her expression turned quizzical.

"What do you mean Mag?"

"I don't know the details yet, but I also got put on a new assignment today. Mine's domestic too. We can at least keep in touch"

"Oh… Is yours?..."

"I don't think so. It's not security detail per se. I think I am being assigned to someone as their handler. But all that hardly matters! I'll get my assignment details when I need to get them. For now, all I know is I have been assigned to 127A"

Gray reared back in surprise at the file number mentioned by her friend

"Mag… Are you sure?"

"Yes. Pretty sure. Why do you ask?"

"Because the case I got assigned to is 127B."

Before Agent Margaret Gold could reply, she spied the door behind them start to open. Motioning to her friend that they could catch up later, Margaret waved a hurried goodbye and flashed a thumbs-up sign at her friend before walking off. Gray might have been her sort-of-friend but her mentor, Mr. H was not a man to be crossed.

As the man walked out of the chamber, his ever-present brolly swinging slightly on his arm, he looked up briefly, gesturing with his eyes for Agent Gray to follow him.

Once they were inside his office, a room almost as large as the chamber they had left and furnished, if possible, even more tastefully, the older man took his customary seat behind the massive desk and motioned for the female agent to take one of the chairs on the other side of said desk.

"What is my new assignment going to be Mr. Holmes?"

"All in good time Agent… all in good time. I would first like to know, how much of your studies do you remember from your university years Anthea Gray?"

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 _ **A/N 2 : Don't forget to review people... Reviews are like those little Sherlolly moments we think we see in canon. Soooo good!**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Hello lovelies!**_

 _ **I want to thank theruckus for your review.**_

 _ **I am so happy that I have your undivided attention! I hope I am able to retain it with this chapter too! Thanks to all the other people who favorited and added alerts.**_

 _ **Without further ado, here's the next chapter** _

* * *

**Chapter 02**

 _ **Mr. Holmes' Office**_

 _ **London, England**_

Anthea Gray, sitting in a highly uncomfortable straight backed chair opposite her mentor was tempted to ask the man to repeat his previous query. Her training told her that she had indeed heard him right and that same training had her answering him in a calm and controlled voice which barely revealed her internal confusion

"I… I can honestly say that I am still quite competent with the skills that I learned at university Sir. Medical school is a hard thing to forget, especially when I have been using and honing most of my diagnostic as well as… surgical skills in the last three years."

Mr. Holmes' face showed the faint signs of a smile. It was the face of a man who might have been called handsome, except his eyes were two arctic ice blocks capable of looking deep into the soul of the person in front of him and gleaning all their secrets with one careless glance. It was the face of a man who had seen, judged and found the entire world incompetent at one time or the other. While Mr. Holmes was a man both famous and notorious within the Agency, few knew his first name and none who knew ever referred to him as such. To everyone, he always was and always would be Mr. Holmes.

The first time Anthea had stepped foot into the Academy for her training, after passing a set of rigorous examinations, she had caught a glimpse of the man and heard the hushed, almost worshiping whispers that followed him down the hallway. She had never expected to be his protégé.

Now, sitting opposite him in the uncomfortable chair, Anthea could think of no place she would rather be.

The Agency, a multinational equivalent of the American CIA, had been formed after the second World War, and descended into the shadow world very soon afterwards. Even the existence of said organization was only mentioned in hushed whispers and even then, only by the most hardcore conspiracy theorists. The Agency and it's training facility, the Academy were only known to the individuals who had been screened and found worthy of entering into the organization. But the effects of the Agency and its members could be felt on a global scale. Their agents were more disciplined, less flamboyant and a lot more conversant in the local cultures than their American counterparts, making them more in demand for quickly and quietly resolving a lot of sticky international situations.

Anthea Gray had never expected to receive the curious email she had received one Saturday morning almost in the last month of Medical school. The email had held no details other than the fact that she had been selected from a big bunch of people to participate in a trial. As a med student on a scholarship, money had always been tight. Anthea had gone to the supposed trial that day in hopes of making some extra money and had returned almost a year later with a whole lot more than just the 100 pounds the study had promised.

One of the first things new recruits were encouraged to do was to select a name for themselves. The code names that they chose that day would be their names for the rest of their professional careers. The batch of recruits that Anthea was part of, numbered 4. It had been her, Margaret Gold, Ian Green and Nathan Silver. She was so used to her codename now, that Anthea hardly even remembered who she had been before she became Anthea Gray.

As she forcibly brought herself back to the moment in her mentor's office, Anthea noticed that there were already a bunch of files on the massive rosewood desk in front of her.

"Sorry for the lapse Mr. Holmes. As I said, I still remember most of it well enough to pass for a medical student or professional if need be. Is this in connection with my next mission?"

Holmes slowly pushed the topmost file in her direction, his eyes even more somber and cold than they usually were.

"This is your assignment agent Gray. Please make sure you read and understand everything in this file before you proceed with the mission."

Anthea had to try her hardest to stop herself from gasping at the name she saw on the top of the file in front of her

"Mr. Holmes!... This person… My next assignment is –"

With a sigh, the reply came

"Yes agent Gray. Your next assignment is to provide surveillance and protection detail for my brother."

* * *

 _ **Two years later**_

 _ **St. Bart's Hospital, London, England**_

Molly Hooper sighed as she carefully sutured shut the Y-incision on Mr. Peters' chest cavity. He would have been 62 today had he lived and Molly couldn't help but see the morbid humor in the fact that she was conducting his autopsy on his birthday. She knew she couldn't share her thoughts with anyone or they would seriously consider making her a permanent resident of the mental ward. There were not too many people around who could understand her penchant for morbid humor or her comfort around the dead.

But Molly didn't really mind. It was who she was… She was a very good pathologist, not that she would ever brag about her own accomplishments, No sirree. Molly never bragged… It was simply not in her nature to boast about her accomplishments. No… it would never do, her being put under the spotlight.

It was taken for granted that she was very, very good at what she did, no one ever questioned any of her findings or even thought to cross check. For all anybody cared, Molly Hooper was born to be a pathologist. They had even resorted to calling her Dr. Death behind her back.

So, when the well-connected brat turned up, calling himself a Consulting Detective, everyone had heaved a collective sigh of relief when he insisted that he would only work with Hooper and left her to it. Which was how Molly Hooper found herself serving as the resident pathologist, lab technician, errand girl and coffee bringer all rolled into one. It was all good because this put Molly Hooper in exactly the place she wanted to be, right next to one Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock was acquainted with Molly Hooper for some time now. He remembered the first time he had met her with all the clarity of perfect recall. He had taken one look at her and deduced everything there was to know about the plain looking girl with the straight brown hair, completely unremarkable features and stars in her eyes whenever she looked at him. Sherlock could almost pin point the second Molly Hooper developed her long standing massive crush on him. It had been mere moments after he had been introduced to her by Graham Lestrade.

He had assumed right then, that he would lose all interest in the plain looking girl the moment his job here was finished. So he'd made an extra effort to be dismissive of her, making it clear that he wasn't interested in anything she had to offer. It had garnered him a glare from Geoff, but then the silver haired policeman held little to no importance to the consulting detective at the moment. Sherlock was already becoming bored with this supposed case and boredom was the main reason he had started taking up cases in the first place. That, and the opportunity to show off his genius to the rest of the world.

And then Molly Hooper went and opened her mouth.

The pathologist became a totally different person the moment she stepped next to the body lying on the morgue slab. The blushing, stuttering mess was nowhere to be found as the girl… no, woman straightened to her full height of 5 feet 4 inches and started to make her observations in a soft yet strong voice that carried all the confidence of a complete professional. Her conclusions were clear, concise and well corroborated by hard evidence. There was no dithering, no assumptions and absolutely no room for error.

For the first time in a long time, Sherlock Holmes was intrigued. He looked at Miss- No… _Doctor_ Hooper with a slight amount of grudging respect, as he questioned her further regarding her observations. With the stammering and blushing back in full force, Sherlock was almost tempted to cut her babbling short when there was a momentary change in her expression. The flash of defiance and was it anger?... so minute a change that anyone not watching for it may have missed it entirely. His interest piqued once more, Sherlock brought his piercing gaze back to her, all the while filing his observations for further thought at a later date.

The momentary aberration was still on his mind, almost as if her behavior was all a front while she knew exactly what he was doing and acted as was expected of her. The detective shook his head, wanting to conclude that the most intriguing thing about Molly Hooper was her ability to blush at absolutely everything. He consoled himself thinking that he was simply bored and looking for mystery where none existed. Still, his mind refused to let go of the idea that plain Miss Molly Hooper was hiding something.

Somewhere in the back of his mind palace, a small room with dusty shelves filled with long ignored memories from almost two decades past re-situated itself from the almost never accessed fifth floor west wing to a more accessible location on the second floor, between rooms filled with information about 'the 347 distinct types of ash' and '15 ways to kill with just a toothbrush'.

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 _ **A/N: Hmmm... Hope you guys liked this chapter! Please dont forget to review your thoughts and opinions. Thank you :)**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Sorry for the longer wait time people. I was very happy to read your reviews and see so many people interested in this fic. Hope you guys continue to like and follow this story as it unfolds.**_

 _ **Thank you**_ **Analena** _ **,**_ **Violet Lumiere** _ **and**_ **Marie** _ **for your thoughtful reviews and here's the next chapter for everyone who followed this story!**_

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

 _ **London, England  
**_

Sherlock Holmes knew a lot of what there was to know about this world. But there was one thing the Consulting Detective did not know…. And that was the fact that this current life that he was so comfortable in, 221B Baker Street, John Watson, Molly Hooper, Greg Lestrade and even his job consulting for the NSY had come about as a result of one single meeting between Lady Blackwood and Mr. Holmes, at the offices of the Agency almost two years prior.

At that time, Sherlock had just been found, almost at the edge of a coma from overdosing again. This had been the third such occurrence in just under a year and the Agency wasn't going to allow an asset it had spent so much time and money on, to go waste. With that in mind and with Mr. Holmes' inputs on his baby brother's psyche, a plan had been decided upon. The only way to distract Sherlock Holmes from the deadly lure of drugs was to give his brilliant mind something else to focus on. And this plan would ensure that Sherlock had multiple distractions vying for his attention and a handler cum protector on hand with the required medical training to handle the situation if it ever got out of hand.

Of course, the quintessential detail that would confirm the success of the plan was the fact that Sherlock never know that his life had been carefully planned for him, around him, by people who were far more invested in his success than he had ever been in himself.

Anthea Gray had been brought on board after careful consideration and she had proved herself within a week's time. Even before Agent Gray could take on her new mission, the data she had been provided to familiarize herself with, had given her a clear picture of the man she would be protecting.

Sherlock Holmes was a genius, brilliant at whatever he had tried his hand at and incredibly arrogant as a result. She'd learned that he was incredibly quick at learning and as a result easily bored, which seemed to be his biggest problem. Drugs and sex were just two of the many vices his case file detailed, but Anthea could see that most of his issues were tires at diverting himself.

There were of course, photographs of a tall, slim man with the most gorgeous blue-green eyes and a head of riotous curls that made him look like he'd just rolled out of bed. Anthea had had absolutely inadmissible thoughts about her target for just a minute before she'd reined herself in. This was a mission and there was no way she was going to let emotions, even something as basic as lust, cloud her judgment.

With all the information pertaining to Sherlock swimming around in her head, Anthea Gray made a decision. The suggestion that boredom was her target's main problem and that any issues pertaining to his personal safety could be handled in an easier fashion if the man was within reach of governmental agencies at all times, was carefully made to her superiors. The plan was speedily approved and research was undertaken to discover a suitable contact at the NSY.

Within a couple of days of that, Sherlock Holmes was out of rehabilitation on his own recognizance and his meeting with the carefully screened and cherry-picked Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade was engineered.

What happened after would go down in history as the easiest case of hook, line and sinker. Sherlock Holmes, ever the show-off couldn't resist the temptation to parade his brilliance, arrogance and deductive capabilities before the captive audience he had found at the crime scene crawling with police officers and crime scene personnel.

Out of all of the officers and technicians on the scene, Greg Lestrade was the only one who had taken anything the random tall guy standing off to one side in a grey long coat and scarf was shouting at them, seriously. True, he was rude, obnoxious and could totally be the murderer coming back to the scene of the crime, but there had been some things he'd mentioned that the DI couldn't get out of his mind. He'd of course had the man checked out, turns out the bloke was a junkie.

But that taste of crime solving had done it for Sherlock. The rush of deducing, the high that figuring out the thought process of a killer brought and the sense of triumph at being able to pinpoint what no one else saw around him, was like a new drug for the addict in him. Within a few hours of his first crime solve, Sherlock Holmes had identified that the only person on that scene who he could even remotely endure, was the silver haired DI Lestrade. And thus was born an incredibly frustrating (for Lestrade) and most times rewarding (again, for Lestrade) relationship that led to Sherlock Holmes inventing a job title for himself.

Due to an idea of Agent Anthea Gray's, the only Consulting Detective in the world was born.

* * *

With Sherlock Holmes happily engaged in his day to day crime busting activities with the DI, the next step of the plan involved the Agency inserting their asset into the picture and that was where Dr. Molly Hooper came in… or rather, started to exist.

Upon being asked what name she would like her alias to have, agent Gray had stated the name Margaret Louise Hooper as her choice. With that, Dr. Margaret Hooper, Molly to her friends, was born. And when she learned of the cover name her friend agent Gold had chosen as part of her corresponding mission, Gray had just smiled affectionately.

While most of her background, her certificates and other details about her cover's life were decided by the Agency beforehand, agent Gray had been given the freedom to choose the cover's character and personality as she wished. With almost no idea what she wanted Molly Hooper to be, Anthea Gray had walked into a mission almost blind for the first time. She wanted Molly to be a spontaneous reaction to Sherlock Holmes as that would be the easiest character to keep up in his presence, which she planned to be in for quite some time. Till she met Sherlock Holmes officially, Molly Hooper would be a sort of blank slate… the kind of person who you would most probably forget five minutes after meeting them.

Settling into her sort of demanding job and the rest of her new life took less time than anticipated and Molly Hooper was a lot easier to slip into when required, than any of the previous characters agent Gray had portrayed, which went to reassure her that she would be able to keep up the necessary pretenses for far longer than her usual missions lasted. Of course, being a pathologist was perhaps the most interesting part of Molly's life, and it was something Anthea Gray truly enjoyed and excelled at.

As the months passed, Gray found herself becoming more and more comfortable with Molly Hooper's personality and as a result, Molly Hooper started to develop some special little touches here and there. Her usual pony became a side braid at times, she started to listen to old school jazz music in her free time and her loud, flashy clothes with their clashing prints and colors became Molly Hooper's quiet way of rebelling against social expectations and ideals. She also started to show more emotion as part of her personality and found herself making friends right, left and center. Molly Hooper had developed a life of her own and was so comfortable in her surroundings that agent Gray sometimes found it difficult to compartmentalize which thoughts were Molly's and which were hers. The mental library she had was most useful at times such as those, but agent Gray knew that Molly Hooper was there to stay and that at the end of her current mission, she would find herself changed, no matter how infinitesimally.

* * *

And then, three months into her emergence, it was finally time for Molly Hooper to meet Sherlock Holmes. There had been a rash of recent murders, with all the victims turned into mummies… the Egyptian kind. The bodies had been embalmed following proper procedure before they were wrapped in linen bandages and posed to look like authentic mummies. Molly figured it was an interesting enough case for Sherlock to tackle and knew she couldn't put off their meeting any further. She had already met DI Lestrade, who'd flirted his way throughout, but seemed dedicated to his job, even if he couldn't distinguish between a stab wound caused by a screwdriver and that caused by a stiletto blade.

Just as she'd predicted, Lestrade strode into the morgue just two hours after, an almost apologetic expression on his face. Before he could open his mouth however, there was a loud banging sound as the doors burst open to reveal a tall, scowling consulting detective storming through them.

Molly Hooper stared unabashedly at the new arrival while Anthea Gray only rolled her eyes mentally. It was to the pathologist's benefit that Sherlock Holmes didn't consider her important enough to pay attention to her yet. As she continued staring, an unconscious blush creeping up her face, Sherlock strode to the body of the latest victim prepped for autopsy on the slab. Within a few seconds, his eyes had brightened and he was almost hopping with excitement.

"Ah… A serial killer. And an imaginative one at that! Finally… A series of murders with bodies turning up as mummies. It's Christmas!"

Greg Lestrade looked positively scandalized at the consultant before shaking his head at the indecent excitement of the man.

"Dr. Hooper, what can you tell us about the latest victim?"

Molly, realizing that the spotlight was on her, hurriedly shook herself out of the daydream she'd seemed to descend into, and walked to the victim's body.

"Male, mid-40's, Caucasian and relatively healthy prior to his death. There is a blunt force trauma to the back of the head but that was not cause of death"

Till she spoke, Sherlock Holmes hadn't even realized that there was another person in the room. Now that he knew, he understood why. The woman who spoke was barely 5 feet 4 inches tall, had unremarkable brown hair and eyes and the most atrocious dress sense ever. The taupe trousers weren't as offensive as the horror of a jumper she was wearing, two sizes too big on her petite body. All of this was layered over by a white lab coat.

What did catch his eye, or rather his ear, was her voice. In the midst of the silent and cold morgue, Dr. Hooper's soft voice echoed with a quiet confidence. She might not have been gorgeous or breathtakingly beautiful, but there was something unique about Dr. Hooper and it stopped Sherlock cold for a moment.

 _Very intelligent, but also quite emotional_

 _Compassionate but also capable of coldly calculated decisions_

 _Confident yet shy…_

 _Cat owner, an orange tabby from the evidence on the bottom third of her trousers, liked summers from the lighter streaks in her hair…_

 _Second child, parents deceased…_

 _Athletic but unconcerned about fitness_

 _Well trained in some… some discipline of physical exercise. Martial arts seemed to be the best fit but why would a pathologist be trained in multiple genres of martial arts? Maybe dancing? Ballet?_

 _Her fingers and hands told of comfort with handling knives… or was it scalpels?_

Deductions and contradictory deductions streamed through Sherlock's consciousness as he tried to place Dr. Hooper, the pathologist into her own neat little box in his mind palace. Almost confused, he turned to Gareth Lestrade, deducing him, to reassure himself that he hadn't lost it.

 _Divorced... again, slept on the couch in his office, less than 6 hours of sleep in last 3 days, increased alcohol consumption, paper cut on left thumb indicating lack of patience, wound untreated indicating lack of time or opportunity, all of these observations meaning that George here was out of his depth. This case was an 8 atleast and that was why Sherlock had been brought in._

His normal deductions from Lestrade almost calmed him a little and he resolved to look into the issue of Doctor Hooper and if she really was who she said she was. And he was torn from his reverie when he heard her next words.

"What was it then?" Garth asked in his typical blunt manner

"He was embalmed…"

Lestrade and Sherlock looked at each other for a bit before turning back to the pathologist, who seemed uncomfortable at the attention. The contradictions he was reading from Dr. Hooper were driving Sherlock batty and that made him more cutting than usual

"Anyone with a pulse can tell me that Doctor Hooper…" he said, emphasizing the word doctor, to convey his contempt clearly

"What was COD? Or do you not have a clue as to what killed this man?"

He'd just turned to Lestrade to continue his rant when he heard the pathologist speak again. Though her voice sounded wobbly and strained, and Sherlock knew that he would see tear filled eyes if he turned, the words that were spoken were calm and collected.

"As I said, he was embalmed… while alive. That's what killed Mr. Morecroft here. The killer made him unconscious and proceeded with the embalming process while his victim was still alive. It is the same with the others too."

Molly Hooper turned to the DI, continuing her explanation while she moved to the other bodies laid out on adjacent slabs

"This was the first case I autopsied so I guess none of the other pathologists had figured out COD yet. So I went back and rechecked all other victims. Sure enough, there were traces of embalming fluid in all their ventricles, signs that they were still alive when embalmed."

She pointed out all the other details that she deemed important to the case, all the while keeping her gaze and explanations centered firmly on the policeman.

"Now if there's nothing else gentlemen, I would appreciate letting me get back to my autopsies. I have to get through four more for the day"

Never had Sherlock Holmes been so politely but firmly dismissed. While she was still a confusing mystery, Dr. Hooper had definitely earned his respect that night with her professionalism and efficiency.

"Oh sorry… Molly, this is Sherlock Holmes. He's… well, he's a detective we consult with at times. Sherlock, this is Doctor Molly Hooper. She's new here, just joined as specialist registrar a couple of months…"

Before Lestrade could finish, Sherlock broke in with his… observations

"Second child, parents deceased, you live alone with an overweight orange tabby cat that you found in an alley one day and brought home. Now you can't get rid of him. You're allergic to shell fish; you drink red wine because you think it is good for you. You like cartoons and Christmas and all other things completely banal. All in all, you seem a completely normal, boring person Molly Hooper. Yet you confuse me…"

"Sherlock!... Sorry Molly, don't mind him. He's just… well, he's always like that"

Molly stuttered a noncommittal reply to the DI all the while glancing at Sherlock Holmes, who seemed to find her fascinating, like a bug he wanted to study under his microscope. Molly Hooper quailed under the sharp gaze while Anthea Gray steadied herself, swearing that she would develop greater control over herself when she was around the consulting detective.

Before she could blink, Sherlock had swept out of the morgue, without so much as a goodbye, Greg following him with another apologetic smile aimed at Molly, leaving the small pathologist to breathe a sigh of relief at having successfully passed through her first hurdle. Contact had been made. Now all she had to do was maintain cover while keeping a close eye on the developments in the detective's life.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Phew... well that's done. First meeting between Molly Hooper and Sherlock Holmes has passed. What's in store for the future?**_

 _ **Keep reading and reviewing to find out!**_

 _ **Macybear :)**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Hello there! Sorry for the long wait for this chapter. In my defense, this was a bit longer than usual. I guess the next few chapters will turn out this long too. Hopefully, I'll be able to get them done soon.**_

 _ **Hope y'all like this chapter as much as you've liked the previous ones. I am overwhelmed with the positive comments. Thank you and keep em coming! :)**_

 _ **I'd like to thank**_ **the-art-of-escape** _ **,**_ **redtartart** _ **,**_ **Saskiamq** _ **and regulars**_ **Analena** _ **and**_ **Marie** _ **for their awesome reviews. I dedicate this chapter to you beautiful people...**_

 _ **Without further ado...**_

* * *

 **Chapter 04**

Molly Hooper had turned out to be an incredibly fascinating individual over the last two years of their acquaintance. Whenever Sherlock thought that he'd figured her out, Molly would do something or react in some manner that was so different from what his mental construct of her was, that he would have to start from scratch all over again. And the thing that fascinated him was that she knew what she was doing and she seemed to be enjoying it thoroughly. The fact that she was wrong footing him time and again seemed to be some sort of a private game between them and it was one game Sherlock Holmes was determined to win.

It was what found him in the morgue that day with a riding crop in his hand, hands itching to flog the fresh corpse laid on the morgue slab. He needed to do it as much to gather evidence for his case as to watch Dr. Hooper's reaction to the act. Lately, he had started to study her rather closely still confused as he'd ever been about all the weird and contradictory reads he'd gotten from her.

Of course, his first thought had been that she was another of Mycroft's stupid agents, which would make her quite a good one because she had almost made him believe that she really was who she was supposed to be. But that notion had died a swift death the next time Sherlock met with his dear brother. The fatty was definitely not the puppet-master holding Dr. Hooper's strings. That much was clear… But was anyone else running the game from the shadows? Or was he simply looking for agents and undercover missions where none existed?

Over time, newer and much more exciting cases had taken up Sherlock's time and attention but a small portion of his genius mind was always focused on the curious case of Doctor Molly Hooper. While he knew by now that she was very, very good at her job and could definitely be trusted (he'd tested her on various occasions and she'd surpassed even his expectations), Sherlock Holmes still hadn't worked out whether there was a mystery behind the innocent façade of Molly Hooper. And Sherlock really did not like not knowing.

So, he'd devised a series of small experiments. Most of which had mixed results. Oh… and he'd had her followed for almost two months by various people of his homeless network.

He'd found that Molly Hooper was unequivocally afraid of rats… not mice, just rats. Spiders and lizards didn't bother her so much but she didn't kill any of them. Dogs were welcomed the same way as cats and any strays she found were promptly taken to the shelter she volunteered at twice a month.

She collected old editions of fairy tales and read romantic fiction voraciously. She preferred coffee over tea but liked to add insane amounts of cream and sugar to it. There were tons of more such inconsequential details about Molly Hooper that had been uncovered these past couple of months. But there were also some crucial pieces of information.

Most of the usual tests that he could use to determine a person's tolerance to a life outside the ordinary, say, a life of crime would be useless with Dr. Hooper as she was a pathologist who dealt with horrifying deaths and crimes day in and day out. She was also highly trained and very comfortable handling implements that could easily be used as weapons. The one thing he could test her on was firearms, and even that event passed rather unsatisfactorily.

Molly Hooper had genuinely jumped out of her skin upon hearing a firearm discharge near her, but Sherlock had later caught her examining the gun with a sort of wistfulness, which she had passed off as curiosity when asked. The way she held the gun suggested that she might be conversant in its usage but it could not be proven to his satisfaction.

Which brought him to the morgue that day, with a riding crop in hand. This event would satisfy not only his need to get a clue for his case, but let him watch her reaction to his brutal assault on a corpse while also helping him purge some of the frustration that seemed to be coursing through his transport lately.

After asking her about the body lying on the table waiting for him, he proceeded to flog it with vigor, not even stopping when he was out of breath. While Molly had appeared fascinated by his actions, she did flinch once or twice during the process, again leaving Sherlock frustrated at the lack of any conclusive evidence either way.

Another issue that was frustrating Sherlock recently was the fact that Dr. Hooper seemed more and more romantically inclined towards him these days and while he might've even given a thought about pursuing that angle had it been the right time, now was not it… definitely not it. With her advances becoming more and more blatant, though still in that shy, stuttering manner of hers, Sherlock was forced to deal with the development in the only way he knew… with sarcasm and cutting remarks. While injuring the good doctor was not on his agenda, if that was the only way to stop her romantic notions toward him, it wouldn't be too difficult for him to handle.

So when she appeared before him with newly applied lipstick and an offer for coffee, he'd walked away after giving her his coffee order, almost rolling his eyes at the thought that the next few months were going to be uncomfortable for the pathologist if he was to keep on cutting her down whenever she displayed any unprofessional romantic behavior.

Whatever thoughts about Molly Hooper had been running through his mind were pushed to the background when Mike Stamford, who he'd met only that morning showed up at the lab with a recently returned soldier. Within two minutes of meeting the man, Sherlock had decided that John Watson would do nicely as a flat-mate and assistant. Not that the man knew just what he was getting himself into… yet. This had just turned a whole new level of interesting thought Sherlock as he walked out of the lab in his usual dramatic fashion after being unable to resist showing off a little bit and giving his future flat-mate the address and his name.

* * *

That same evening was when John Watson, recently invalidated army doctor, new flat-mate and eventual blogger of all things Sherlock, found himself embroiled in the case he liked to call 'A Study in Pink'. While he had to admit that Sherlock Holmes was beyond brilliant, as evinced from his series of quick deductions and explanations he'd given during the cab ride, his methods were certainly unorthodox and he never really spared a thought about anyone else's sensibilities when the consulting detective was on a case. It had however been quite enjoyable to pull one on the detective when he'd revealed that Harry was in fact his sister, a detail Sherlock had gotten wrong.

Sherlock's antagonistic behavior towards the forensic tech Anderson, who did appear to be a bit on the irritating side and the frankly rude Sergeant Donovan, made it clear to John that while the police department might need the detective's talents from time to time, they certainly did not seem very appreciative of it. The DI was another thing altogether. Greg Lestrade seemed to know exactly how serious the situation was and was ready to put up with Sherlock's methods if it got him results.

Sally Donovan had seen fit to warn him off of associating with Sherlock Holmes, not knowing that her words had served the exact opposite purpose of getting the ex-soldier interested even more. Of course, before he could even get a taxi to go back to either his hotel room or 221B, he'd been kidnapped.

It had all the makings of a James Bond style thriller. The mysterious silky voice on the phone, the posh but nondescript shiny black car, the beautiful woman inside with the fake name, the industrial warehouse where they ended up and finally, the man in the suit with the brolly who casually claimed to be Sherlock's archenemy while offering him money to spy on the detective.

Well, life with Sherlock Holmes certainly wasn't boring by any interpretation of the word. The man who'd had him brought to the warehouse seemed to be aware of a lot of details about John and from what he'd indirectly conveyed, John understood that this man was interested in knowing about Sherlock's actions without Sherlock being aware that he was under surveillance. As a soldier, such actions were beneath John Watson and while he'd struggled to convey just how much he was not willing to sell himself, he'd been repeatedly interrupted by text tones from his phone… Sherlock had texted him asking… no ordering him to come to Baker Street.

While John wasn't happy about the way the detective was behaving, it was certainly better than the actions of the man who stood in front of him. As though he knew what was going on in John's mind, the man in the suit calmly deduced correctly that John did not suffer from the war… he missed it.

 _ **Could be dangerous – SH**_

It was this text and the other man's words asking him to choose a side that broke John out of his thoughts and into making a decision.

Upon being asked the address of his home, he'd told the woman who called herself Anthea, 221B Baker Street.

* * *

Anthea, just that, no last name, was having a busy day. She'd been asked by her employer to bring one Dr. John Watson to a certain out of the way warehouse in the industrial district for a meeting. Her boss, being who he was, one of the most powerful men at Whitehall, frequently had such clandestine meetings in out of the way places. Why, just the previous day, she'd cleared out a place in his schedule for an urgent meeting with the head of the Serbian secret police at an old abandoned slaughterhouse. Within this last month, they'd used up more than half of London's few dead spots in the surveillance, where no cameras saw or heard what took place.

As a short sandy haired man got into the car with her, Anthea got to quickly updating her boss of the development and also informing her other contact, regarding the case. Nimble fingers danced over the blackberry's keypad as messages flew back and forth between her and her friend, regarding this new addition to the Holmes' brothers' lives.

John Watson was an anomaly, an unplanned inclusion who seemed poised to stay in their lives. Anthea didn't know what to think as friend assured her that the situation was being looked into and John Watson being thoroughly investigated by the agency. Of course, there was nothing either of them could do at the moment. Whatever was to be done was up to the Holmes siblings and the Agency.

So, Anthea stood by quietly, approving of the doctor's bravery in rejecting the elder Holmes' offer, even if he didn't actually know who the man was… yet.

And it was with a quiet sigh that she reacted when he asked her to take him to Baker Street, stopping by his hotel to pick up his service weapon on the way. The development was duly notified to both her employer and her co-agent on the mission and Anthea quickly went on her way, sidestepping the dinner offer from the doctor quite skillfully.

* * *

John Watson, a war veteran, could honestly say he'd never before experienced all that he'd gone through with Sherlock Holmes on that first evening. What had been a certain 'three patch problem' turned into him being conned into texting the murderer. That then turned into being mistaken for a couple at the local Italian place all through which Sherlock sat about deducing the killer enthusiastically. That resulted in a foot chase across the mind numbing streets of London, ending rather comically in them trying to impersonate police officers in front of a hapless American tourist.

Of course, it was when they got back to Baker Street, rather out of breath, that he opened the door to a smug Angelo holding up his cane. And Sherlock smiling rather like a cheeky seven year old as he yelled to Mrs. Hudson that John would be taking the room upstairs.

That moment of levity passed rather quickly once they found that Lestrade and a team of police personnel were searching their flat, looking for drugs. Something else John hadn't known about Sherlock other than the gruesome experimentation with the body parts found in the fridge and microwave.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was plain pissed off. All he was trying to do here was catch the killer and these… these people!... these vacant idiots were getting in the way. A drugs bust of all things! This was a new low that the NSY was plumbing, trying to railroad him into working on their rules and regulations. Did they not want him to catch the killer? Did they want to let other people did the same way they did those four victims?

It wasn't just his need to exert his superiority that led him to be cutting and sarcastic. Of course, it didn't really hurt, but these people surrounding him, what was it like in their tiny little brains? It would be so peaceful, so relaxing if he could stop thinking, stop deducing every single moment of his life and be like these ordinary humans.

From childhood, Sherlock had felt the voracious need to know the truth, to find the solution, to understand why something was the way it was. He could ignore it as much as he could stop breathing on command. It was a huge part of who he'd grown up to be, and while it did not result in anything resembling normal, Sherlock Holmes had never aimed for normal anyway.

Now, as he tried to think, to reason the case out in his mind, there were so many distractions in his way. There was Gavin Lestrade, insisting on their working together, Anderson, whose entire existence was serving only to irritate him, Sally Donovan, the she-devil who lived to berate him and Mrs. Hudson, repeatedly interrupting his thoughts going on and on about the taxi that he'd never called.

Even with all these distractions, it took him barely a minute to work out that Jennifer Wilson was cleverer than all of this bunch. She'd practically led them to her killer, by planting her phone on him and also scratching out the passcode to its account on the floor as her dying message. Ah… the woman was clever, and she was dead.

The search took all of a minute before declaring frustratingly, that the phone was indeed in 221B. Going through his thoughts once more, while the rest of them searched the house like a bunch of blind bats, Sherlock found something pinging on the edge of his vision. There was a man standing behind Mrs. Hudson, a London cab driver to be exact. As his mind flitted through all the crime scenes, the victims and the way they had been taken, his own deductions about the killer echoed in his ears and Sherlock knew.

He didn't need to go after the killer… the killer had come for him.

* * *

John Watson didn't know what to think. One minute Sherlock had been yelling at them to keep quiet, not move, not breathe and not think and the next, he'd walked out of the flat saying he needed air. He was new here but even he knew that there was something more going on at the moment. Sherlock Holmes didn't seem like the kind of man who would just let something go. That too if that something was a case like this one. Something seemed to have rattled the detective, something he'd figured out maybe, that made him walk out on all of them.

Sally Donovan certainly didn't seem surprised by Sherlock's behavior which John had already learnt not to consider too seriously. It was Greg Lestrade's words about Sherlock being a great man with the potential to be a good one someday, that stuck in his head for a while after the police left the flat.

It was on his way out that the second search he'd run on Jennifer Wilson's phone GPS yielded results. The result had him running out of the flat without a second thought about his cane.

In his hurry to get a cab and rush to where the tablet said Jennifer Wilson's phone was, and where at a fair guess, Sherlock Holmes was too, John Watson hailed a cab and jumped into it, yelling at the cabbie to move. Unsuccessful at getting to DI Lestrade, John fairly jumped out of his cab as it reached the twin buildings of the Roland-Kerr further education center, as it said on the map. A frantic search of the building on the left revealed that he'd chosen wrong. Sherlock and another man were standing in a room in the adjacent building straight across from where he stood. It was too far a distance to gain Sherlock's attention and it seemed that John was on a tight timeline. As he watched, Sherlock, who stood with his back to him, reached out to the bottle in front of him and taking the pill from it, started to bring it to his mouth along with the cabbie who did the same. And without even having to think about it, John brought out his gun, and fired.

In the noise of the gunshot, no one noticed the second bullet that whizzed across the same distance from the floor above, from a silenced gun and into the murdering cabbie at almost the same moment as the bullet from John's. While the bullet from John's gun was a through and through, the second bullet lodged itself into the wound, it outer casing dissolving quickly, spreading the dosage of an unknown fast acting nerve agent through the body of the murderer. The cabbie was dead within half a minute, but not without giving Sherlock the name he wanted… Moriarty.

* * *

Sherlock, while he might've been in a bit of… let's say, not at the top of his game at the moment, was still lucid enough to know that there had been two bullets. Not that anyone else cared about that at the moment. John Watson's bullet had been found and dug out of the wall behind where the cabbie lay and Sherlock had simply not pointed out that there was another in the actual wound. The body had already been carted off to the morgue, where he knew he could get access to it if he asked Molly.

He was already half way through his deduction of the shooter's identity when it dawned on him that the shooter had indeed been John Watson. Atleast, one of the shooters had been John. The other one he had no idea about but whoever it had been was not just a crackshot, they were of some of the highest caliber he's encountered… ever. To be able to predict a bullet trajectory and duplicate it with a moment's notice, and to do it so well that not even professionals could notice, was a highly specific skill and Sherlock knew that his curiosity had been piqued. Now that he knew that there was someone out there, having his back in their own twisted way, he would find them.

And then there was this… Moriarty.

Whoever or whatever that was. A man, a group of people or a shadow organization? It didn't matter what or who it was. Sherlock Holmes was on the case and he would get to the bottom of it.

* * *

Anthea was busy once more, again involving her employer's brother and Dr. Watson. Her friend and co-agent had just shot a serial killer, making sure he died as fast as possible with the least damage. There was a lot to do and Anthea was well and truly stuck in the middle of it. A clean-up crew had been ordered from the agency and they would take care of the secondary crime scene and the fact that the body had contained evidence of another bullet. Nothing would make it into the official report, even if it was not Molly Hooper that did the autopsy.

She was in the middle of coordinating the second crew at the adjacent building when Mycroft Holmes told her to increase the security on his brother and his new flat-mate. Sighing at the vast amount of paperwork involved, Anthea quickly nodded, continuing the flow of messages from her blackberry as she accompanied the elder Holmes brother back to Whitehall.

* * *

Molly Hooper had had a long, tiring day. The overweight tabby that had taken over her life, demanded its meal as soon as she stepped foot into the house. Having fed the feline, Molly made her way to her closet, pressing her thumb pad into a corner in the back, revealing a false wall, which pulled away leaving a recess filled with boxes upon boxes. Sighing a bit, she placed the long, slim case she carried, running her fingers over it's wooden grain in an almost loving manner before closing the recess and stepping back. She made her way to the bathroom, stripping off the navy jumpsuit on the way, and washed off the GSR from her hands.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_

 _ **And there it is, another chapter done. This is the first time I've worked with events from an actual episode. Hope they've come out well. Please let me know what y'all thought by way of reviews.**_

 _ **Thank you and happy reading!**_

 _ **Macybear**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N:**_

 _ **First off, I apologize from the bottom of my heart for such a long delay in posting. I still can't believe that so many of you liked what I have written and were waiting for updates. Let's just say life has repeatedly punched me in the gut over the last couple of months. It has been very hard to sustain normal day to day activities let alone sit down to write. I think I am getting better now and will be able to continue as before. Here's the next chapter in the story... hope you guys like it.**_

 _ **Enjoy!**_

* * *

 **Chapter 05**

Anthea Gray knew that she had fulfilled her objectives over the past couple of years. Molly Hooper was as real as could be and she had made considerable inroads into the tiny bunch of people that consisted Sherlock Holmes' social circle. DI Greg Lestrade, John Watson, Martha Hudson and even Sherlock Holmes knew and believed her to be nothing more than the shy, stuttering pathologist that was hopelessly infatuated with the detective they all knew and cared about. However, no one knew of the struggles agent Gray had had with herself in the meantime. It was one thing for her to take over Molly Hooper's personality and it was quite another for her to find Molly invading her for real. Agent Gray knew now that even if she stopped being Molly Hooper the next day, the shy but capable pathologist would be there to stay for the rest of Anthea Gray's life as a part of her. It wasn't very troublesome to find her own likes and dislikes migrating to Molly, but it was inherently catastrophic when Agent Gray found Molly Hooper's emotions finding their way to her.

Molly Hooper's character worked because of her devotion to the Consultant Detective. It made him comfortable around her and might've even started helping him trust her. But that exact emotion had made it very difficult for Anthea Gray to separate herself from the mission and view Sherlock Holmes as only an objective… to be protected at all costs.

But she was nothing if not professional. Nothing would come between her and the trust her superiors had placed on her. She was going to carry through and do it in style. Of course, Sherlock was helping even if he didn't know it. Sure the younger Mr. Holmes was one of the most attractive men she had ever been around and she had been around a lot of them, but he also had the personality of a belligerent toddler. It would have been endearing if it wasn't so entirely irritating to work with him and his stubbornness and highhandedness. Sure, his imperial majesty was almost never wrong about anything, but that didn't stop agent Gray from enjoying more than a few daydreams of breaking that aristocratic nose or shearing off those sinful looking curls as Molly Hooper scurried around the morgue to comply to his demands.

Of course, these instances made it difficult for her to stick to her character. More of Anthea Gray would show instead of Molly Hooper. But she wasn't that bothered anyway as she was pretty sure Sherlock had already figured out she wasn't exactly who she said she was. Though he hadn't quite figured out if she was anything more, the world's only consulting detective wouldn't be all that good if he couldn't figure out she wasn't just Molly Hooper. However, other than a bunch of reactionary tests he'd run on her, he hadn't yet approached her about any of it. Anthea had already made it known to her Agency that expecting Sherlock Holmes to look the other way when they placed an agent around him to surveil and protect him as an asset, was as likely as pigs taking to the air.

But as long as he remained mum about it, she wasn't going to start poking around his observations. And she really did enjoy stumping him whenever one of those tests rolled around. She'd almost given herself away during that firearm thing though. The sleek and shiny metal of the Smith and Wesson had her almost running her fingers along it fondly when she remembered Sherlock watching her closely. And what do you know… today seemed to be another one of those days.

Sherlock entered the morgue with a riding crop of all things, asking for a fresh cadaver to run some experiments on. She'd had to blabber on about the man whose remains they were standing around, to get some time and bring herself back to even keel after being subjected to that unexpectedly arousing picture of Sherlock Holmes with a riding crop. Molly had retreated to the next bay when Sherlock started to flog the corpse with vigor, the pathologist inside her interested in the bruising pattern that would form while the agent in her cataloged his form and the amount of damage he would be able to inflict. The womanly side of her though, was very… interested. This titillated her curiosity as she had never been interested in domination or pain in her personal life previously. Shoving those thoughts aside needed a bit more effort than expected, leading Molly to blush heavily as she stepped back into the morgue bay as Sherlock finished the flogging session and got busy typing on his phone.

Agent Gray had thought about it over the last few weeks and decided that her best option at keeping her identity was to distract the detective. And the one way she knew would definitely work to keep him on his toes but away from being too interested in her, was to show a lot of interest in him. Over the months of getting to know everything there to know about one Sherlock Holmes, one thing had become extremely clear – Sherlock Holmes did not like emotions… in any way, form or manner. So, the best way to discomfit him would be to throw herself at him, repeatedly and in earnest, which was what she did.

Molly Hooper was not only blatantly devoted to and admiring of Sherlock Holmes, she was also extremely infatuated with the man. Something she had recently stopped hiding. And that was something that made the consulting detective antsy enough to start looking for exits whenever Molly Hooper started to gush over him.

The obligatorily awkward stab at asking him to a coffee date was made and was shot down as bluntly as expected, but it got Sherlock out of the morgue and quickly at that. Molly couldn't help but sigh in relief as his Belstaff turned the corner and he disappeared from view. At least now, she had the rest of the day to get her caseload of five autopsies done. But Molly wasn't to know just how wrong she was until about four hours later.

Her mobile pinged softly as she was almost done with her second autopsy. Stripping off her gloves impatiently, Molly's slight frown deepened as she read the message from 'Meena'. There was a new player in the game… a soldier named John Watson, sent home from battle due to injuries sustained. Apparently, he was interesting enough for Sherlock Holmes to want him as a flat mate. The man was certainly very popular that day as the elder Holmes brother had also met with him in his usual dramatic fashion. Dr. Watson went up quite a bit in Molly's estimation when she got to the part of the message explaining that he had respectfully but strongly declined Mycroft's offer of paying the doctor in return for spying on his new potential flat-mate.

Molly herself may have actually taken him up on the offer had the same ever been made to her. It was a good thing then that neither was she Sherlock's flat mate nor was such an offer extended to her by the British Government.

After she had finished up her work for the day, Molly sat down at her desk and pulled up the relevant files for her second, more important job. An instinct told her that the addition of Dr. Watson would only make her job of looking over Sherlock Holmes' shoulder all the more arduous. The added talents of a soldier and medical doctor to the already multifarious talents of the consulting detective could only result in a host of dangerous situations the pair could rush head first into. But this development might also save Agent Gray some time and effort if she could rely on the good doctor to handle some of those dangerous situations requiring the presence of an armed companion.

Already, the case that DI Lestrade had presented to Sherlock was proving itself interesting. As Molly went over all the feeds and data the Agency had acquired pertinent to the case, she knew exactly what was going to happen and soon. Sherlock Holmes was as brilliant as he thought he was and even without all the information she had at hand, he would solve the conundrum of the lady in pink and arrive at the same conclusion she did. And Sherlock would definitely be reckless and go after the killer… even if he didn't, the killer seemed to almost want the detective to figure the case out if the clues being left behind meticulously were to be believed.

Once Molly had activated the GPS tracker on the cab, she was off in the Kawasaki that stayed hidden in the darkest corner of the St. Barts' parking lot, her beloved Remington PSR modified to her specifications already loaded on her back. With an idea of where the cabbie was going, she knew she could make it to the destination well before any of the others got there. With her bike stowed, it was only a matter of minutes before Sherlock and the cabbie/killer arrived and settled in for the showdown at one of the bigger halls. Molly had already positioned herself in the higher floor, with a good view into any and all of the windows of the pre-lit hall. Now, she had to wait for the right moment. John would be in position almost right beneath hers, making both his shot and hers a lot easier to make. It was a straight shot for John and a slightly more difficult one for her as she had to time and position her shot as precisely as she could if she was to get through this undetected.

The events took place just as Agent Gray had predicted them, her frustration at the younger Holmes mounting to unprecedented levels at the extent to which he could go to satisfy his unquenchable curiosity. John Watson had shot the killer just as she had hoped and she was able to make a satisfactory second shot. Sherlock might have noticed but to her knowledge, he wasn't aware of who the second shooter was. With no time to waste, Agent Gray had been out of the scene before the NSY got there but not before hearing the cabbie's last word, which froze her cold.

Knowing that there was nothing more to be done for the night, Agent Gray slipped back to Molly Hooper's flat. If her hands trembled slightly at the thought of Moriarty as she washed the GSR off of them, there was no one to witness it.

* * *

With the Moriarty development and a full case load of autopsies to be done, Gray wasn't as hands on with Sherlock's security as she would have liked. The Jaria Diamond case had been a close shave, the direct confrontation of the Shah's armed guard with Sherlock at 221B making it almost impossible for her to intervene. The younger Holmes had held his own admirably, having also solved the case without even leaving the flat. Gray had herself predicted the identity of the culprit but mistakenly assumed that the guards of the Shah would not be so idiotic as to attack the detective in broad daylight, thus the close shave.

But the Jaria diamond case wasn't the one that caught Gray's attention. When she came to know that the case had been brought to Sherlock's purview, Gray had gone over the details of the interesting break-in at the Shad Sanderson Bank and Investment Firm, where nothing had been stolen but an interesting symbol had been left on the painting of the bank's ex-Chairman. A bright, yellow spray painted symbol, right across the painting's eyes. Keeping up with Sherlock's investigation had been a breeze until she made the connection to the two bodies in her morgue. A dead journalist and an equally dead investment broker, both with the tattoo of the Tong, the notorious Black Lotus gang, was not going to make any of their lives easier for the time being.

While Gray would've liked to tail Sherlock, John and his girlfriend du jour to the circus, which was just a front for the Black Lotus gang, her bait seemed to have finally caught the attention of the fish she had been hoping to catch. 'Jim from IT' finally chose the same night as the circus, to message her on her blog. It might've been just lousy timing or coincidence, but Gray wasn't going to take any chances. Listening to the proceedings at the circus through the tiny bugs the Agency had installed in the theatre the previous evening, Molly Hooper made her way up from the morgue to the canteen, to meet with the shark she'd caught in her net.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_

 _ **Hope y'all liked this chapter. Please don't forget to favorite/like and review.**_

 _ **Thanks**_


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